At times, I truly do despise my bigger brother, Panda, aka His Lordship (seriously, that’s a nickname of his relating to his account in RuneScape), aka Agent Quicksilver (he once considered himself an elite spy), aka Eugene.


After much wailing not so long ago, he convinced me to watch The Ring, even though I swore I would never. Truth be told, it wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. It wasn’t even a quater as bad as I thought it would be. If Pete stayed up until 3am, scared of his television until then, well… different perceptions, I suppose. At any rate, he got me to watch it by paying me 60 cents per minute. A good deal, I know. I got $61.20 at the end of the movie. Of course, being my brother, he was most distressed by the fact he owed me more than $200 at the time.


Today, he got his vengeance, showing his vindictive side. Firstly, he started small. He displaced my bookmark. Psht, yeah, like that did a lot. Idiot. Then, he took another step. He criticised Inuyasha, while I was watching it. What’s more, is that he’s forever ruined it for me. In response to Ivy, she’s correct in every way, except if all of it is the same, and you love one, you love all. I happen to be an anime fan. Then Eugene took another step after I turned off the TV, grumbling, but happy, knowing I could watch it when he was sleeping.


Turning to the computer, I logged into Tactic’s Core- an online game I thoroughly enjoy playing. I went to the kitchen for one reason or another, and when I got back, Eugene had gotten to his feet. He gave me that look that said "I know what I’m about to do is wrong, but it’s going to be fun to piss other people off," and in defense, I dove for the keyboard and locked the computer, just as he attempted to mash all the buttons in. He laughed and settled down, waiting for me to unlock it. There was nothing I could do, so I shut it down, grabbed my book (and the bookmark lying next to it) and ran to my room, locking the door.


Calling to me through the door, he threatened to draw on the pages of the Chronicles of Narnia- one of the few items in the household which I have idolised. I howled, and turned it into a scream to which Mum responded. She told me off for yelling and said Eugene wouldn’t do anything of the sort. I hissed back at her insistently, and she whispered in my ear she’d buy me another one if she did. Simmering, but not boiling, I returned to my room to meditate and release some of the negative qi.


About a minute later, he gave another playful call, telling me he had some things I might be interested in buying. After I could no longer ignore it, and expecting the worst, I went to check. He gestured, and in front of me, just out of reach (for it’s forbidden to enter one another’s room without permission- I at least will honour that even if he does not) was the Legend of Zelda, Ocarina of Time, Starfox Adventures, my Narnia book, and my glasses. I screamed again, longer and louder and far more vociferous than what he had seen previously. He had become vindictive, and I greeted him in kind belligerently.


For a moment, I pleaded. When it became clear he would accept nothing but money, I narrowed my eyes and scanned his room for things I could use to bargain with. I came up with the brilliant idea that I would steal all his panda posters and merchandise, and burn everything. I strode down the corridor and into the living room, screaming all the while until  I realised it wouldn’t do. In hysterics, I realised I didn’t need the piano to live happily- I could smash it to pieces and it would hurt Eugene many times more than it would hurt any of the rest of us. Mum was quick to stop me.


After much coaxing, I agreed to buy everything back for $62, which Mum promised she would pay me. I reasoned it was better to have the money in cash than for Eugene to scam it out of me some other way, though I felt guilty for robbing my own mother.


At any rate, violence begetted violence, and I’m smart enough not to continue the feud. One day, I know that I will punch Eugene in the face. I have come closer and closer during out episodes, and sooner or later, I will not be able to stop myself from trying to kill him. It’s nice to have a way to take out your anger, even if it’s on your 18 year old brother, more than twice as strong as you. Ah well. If I go to hospital, he will be blamed. Either way, I have some compensation for the next thing he does against me.

"Vengeance is a dangerous thing. So tempting when you see it. So sweet when you seek it. So very deadly when it’s yours." Anon.

Inuyasha Fan-boy?

It is with some regret, I admit that I have finally succumbed to the ubiquitous presence of Japanese Anime. Specifically, I have finally watched an episode of Inuyasha. Eight episodes, actually, and it’s completely irresistable.
Firstly, Inuyasha has the cutest ears in existence. Because I value my mortal life, I would not have the bravado to pet them as so many fan-girls would kill to do, but I’d just like to say that the twitching is adorable.
Secondly, I have many a question. How did Inuyasha get hair of the fire rat? How did he get the Tetsusaiga? How did Sesshomaru-sama get the "Tensaiga"? How did Miroku get involved with them, and why does he carry that staff? If Miroku’s Wind Tunnel sucks things in, doesn’t that mean he has a bajillion demons inside him? Where did they meet Sango? And how the devil can she throw that massive boomerang?
Thirdly, I cannot let this obssession continue for the sake of my sanity. It will consume me if I encourage it, but damnit, there are still two DVD’s I haven’t watched, and by golly, I’m going to watch them. I’m just such a sucker for anime. Pokémon, Beyblades, Sailor Moon (SHUT UP! It’s a quality show), Dragonball, Chobits and pretty much any other anime I’ve been graced to watch. They’re all irresistable, what with their massive eyes that take up half their face, and their little sweat beads and ability to fall over instantaneously, and the lumps on people’s head when they’ve taken a walloping to the noggin… It’s just all so classic!
That, and I’ve never been able to resist anime romance. It just makes me all fuzzy inside when a guy and a girl get close to admitting they have feelings for one another, and the closer they get, the more torn up they are. Then, traditionally, they will either never admit it, or they’ll deny it outright and try to hate each other for a few episodes. At any rate, it makes me all warm and tingly and I must seize something to squeeze in a massive bear hug.
I heart Inuyasha, but *le sigh*. There’s more to life than Japanese cartoons. I’ll see where this newfound passtime takes me, but for now, I have things to do before school resumes.

“Efeu’s Nicknames”

I found this in my drawer from a while ago, and thought it was rather sweet.
  1. Pirate. (I think it’s her right eye that’s slightly weaker than her left. Hence, the need for an eyepatch.)
  2. Giraffe. (She said she almost didn’t get into air rifle because of her long neck)
  3. Efeu. Ivy in German, lacking propper punctuation.
  4. Miss Wong.
  5. The Scientist.
  6. Lass.
  7. Little Miss Ivy.
  8. Freulein Ivy.
  9. Snake Woman.
  10. Gunslinger.
  11. Pajama Girl.
  12. Spoon Girl.
  13. Bulbous Cheeks. [o.O]
  14. Tramp.
    [Now that I think about it, some of these are pretty nasty!]
  15. Model-in-the-Making.
  16. Daytripper.
  17. Eskimo. (Ice Kachang-related?)
  18. Raflle-ticket. (Envious of her school?)
  19. Germaine Germainia. (Long story. Involves Lord Jackemus, and Ivy’s love for Germany.)
  20. Iron Pumper.
  21. Little Miss Faker.
  22. Mad Woman.
  23. Rememberall.
    [You have as much chance of guessing these as I do.]
  24. Forest Lady. (Vi for Victoria. Victoria is a character out of the "Theif" games, who had power to control the forrest.)
  25. Biologist.
  26. Milady.
  27. Thesselia. (??)
  28. Leprechaun.
  29. Croc Hunter.
  30. Weasly. (This one was clever. She had McDonalds one day, and ate it in favour of talking to me. Ronald McDonald, Ronald Weasly, Weasly for short.)
  31. The Artist.
  32. Mei Mei (little sister).
  33. Giantess (NOT a nice one.)
  34. Carnivore (o.0)
  35. Pearly Whites.
  36. Slick.
  37. Jebedia.
  38. (The) Meeper.
  39. Cathy Freeman.
  40. Sugardimples.


There were about a dozen more which I didn’t write down, but hey. I’d say 40 is a reasonable list. I came up with them about a year or a year and a half ago, so forgive me if they’re stale.

Ji Kun Do

What I’d give to have a katana, right now. I discovered that I’ve been holding them upside down. No, that doesn’t mean blade first. That means that the curve arcs in a hat shape, not a cup shape. At any rate, I’d love to have one right now, so I could stand in my weed-riddled back yard and raise it by my side.
With deliberately painful slowness, I would teach myself techniques and moves, and then, forms. It’s not Tai-Chi Willow, though I do admit, I do stretch like that. It’s just my way of being somewhat artistic about it, if you will. It makes me feel in control. I can feel my heart beat, I can sense my blood flowing, I can almost tap into an inner strength. It makes me feel powerful, completely in control, and with unnerring precision.
Remember when Willow was trying to get me out of her room? Despite her bulk, I could have overcome her with ease. Of course, I could never hurt a lady, but that didn’t stop me from shirking off her arms or finding a way to delicately push her off. Come to think of it, I’d absolutely love to fight you in a wide open space, and if I could overcome my chivalry. Something tells me I’d be a clutz and fall over everything behind me. For some reason, I don’t think I’d be able to go full out, because I don’t think I can bring myself to kick someone in the face or snap their neck etc. I could do it, easily, even someone of your considerable height. Nah, I wouldn’t be able to go full out.
You know what? I need to hire a team of ninja assassins to sneak up on me when I least expect it, not including when I’m using the toilet or shower. Yes. That would be my challenge.
NOTE: It is my goal to lift a car. I will get there. Mark my words.

Insanity Strikes



Oh my Lord, this is the worst feeling in the world. My fingers are barely strong enough to type. I’ve just slumped my hands on the keyboard and am trying not to hit a key that’s out of range. It is proving exceptionally difficult.


For the past hour and a half or so, I have been exhausted. Suddenly swept by a wave of fatigue, I headed to an early night at around 9pm, and I got NO WHERE. I lay in bed, first shivering cold until I eventually didn’t notice it. Then I had this wretched idea that there was a prophecy the said something like "You cannot sleep using your own arm as a weapon." For some reason, in my weakened state, it made perfect sense. I knew I would not be able to sleep for a few hours, for every time I did catch up with sub-yawn- OH MY GOD THAT HURTS. Yawning is about three times more painful than swallowing. I’m in purgatory. I can’t sleep for more than ten minutes at a time, before I wake up drooling on my arm. It’s a fricking nightmare.


I finally forced myself out of bed, quite literally. I barely had the strength to roll over or swallow willingly let alone get out of bed, and I collapsed immediately. I crawled for a while until I decided I was being stupid, and rose to my feet only to crash into my cupboard. Eugene and Matt were still playing the piano, and I stumbled crying to them, letting my legs give way and lying there partially sobbing for a while. Then, after several painful minutes, I crawled/stumbled to the couch, and finally to the computer in the hopes that Ivy would be online to comfort me. Unfortunately, I do not think I will be able to contact her this evening, and must force myself to stay awake until my mind is exhausted enough to sleep.


Lord, what illness is this that drives me?!






Though it was I sought sleep some six hours ago, here I am, still awake. I took Eugene’s advice to what he called "The Lordy Syndrome": not being able to sleep at night, no matter what you did. I called Ivy, which was entirely selfish of me, for she too was seeking rest. I was just hoping to have some company, and upon apologising and bidding her sweet dreams once more, I did the unthinkable, and woke my mother.


We gathered that my sore throat originated from a blocked nose- resultantly, I had to sleep with my mouth open, and in turn, my throat must have been exposed to a virus or other little nasty. The reason I drool is that I cannot swallow the saliva as I normally would- my subconscious has come to fear the pain it brings, and so my body has stopped entirely unless I force it. I was also discovered to have a new fever, preventing me from getting too comfortable in a bed, for I’d be shivering and then trying to kick the blankets off moments later.


The two panadols I took at 1am in accordance with the four hour rule didn’t help at all. I’m tired, already Matt’s picked out three mistakes in the past… 20 seconds? In no means do I intend for these entries to be a pity-seeker as Pete would indubitably claim. I just needed someone to talk to, and unfortunately, everyone’s gone to bed save for myself, Mum (who’s moved to the couch to ward me) and Matt. Of course, Mum’s fallen asleep, bless her. I too will pursue much-needed rest, and hope my body will respond kindly in the morning. Sorry for being a whinger, but I really did just need someone to talk to about what I’m going through presently, and my real voice hurts too much to use. Night blog.






Still, sleep evades me. Mum is taking me to the hospital where hopefully I’ll feel a bit better. The reason I cannot sleep, I have decided, is that whenever I swallow, the sharp jolt of pain brings me back into consciousness. I’ve always wanted to stay in hospital, and now I finally can.


To Ivy: I am sorry, but I probably won’t see you this afternoon. We will speak again though.

To everyone else, Ivy included: If you are reading this, know that I love you. I do appreciate it a great deal that someone might pay the slightest inkling of attention to what I think, or how my day went, or what I’m going to do. It does mean a lot to me. Thank you, all of you.










My, the edits keep coming, don’t they? Well I just thought I’d say my throat feels a thousand times better after I took a bunch of neurophin- anti-inflamatory tablets, and a stronger dose of my prescribed anti-biotic. Eventually I should recover, but meanwhile I have to do what I can. I didn’t get to stay there as I had hoped, but when I got back I took advantage of the lack of pain and got an hour’s sleep. Sure, I’m a widdle bit sweepy, but I should pull through. I’m looking forward to getting rid of this accursed sore throat.





Sanity is Struck



Dear Diary,


Today I find myself rather poorly. I first woke after five hours sleep from the burning in my throat as I had suspected would assail me in the night. I swallowed the panadol I had prepared and heaved myself out of bed, assuming sleep to be beyond me. When I had boiled the water for my milo, I suddenly acknowledged my fatigue and switched off the light, tumbling back into bed without really realising what had happened. I woke some three hours later with the sudden urge to use the bathroom, and once again, drank as much water as I could to soothe the burning in my throat, and tried to sleep once more.


An hour or two later, I woke again, and lay there in the darkness, too tired to wake but too awake to sleep. Upon hearing noises in the kitchen, I climbed out of bed for what I presumed to be the last time, having rested enough to get on with my day. I greeted Mum and told her of my condition, and upon feeling my forehead at some half past eight in the morning, declared I had a fever. Indeed, I felt like, and I quote myself, “the crap a dead skunk makes after it’s been hit by a truck”. I was trying to find the words to capture how I felt, you see. I’d say I got close.


I stayed in the shower for anywhere between half an hour and an hour and a half, too dizzy to stand so sitting on the floor. I let the water become increasingly warmer as I seemed to get colder with time, and when I finally turned the tap off, it took me a number of minutes to crawl out and dress. Walking proved quite a challenge, but I managed to fling myself back into bed until my head stopped spinning. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and I lay there until my eyes closed.


For the next hour or so, my fever eased slightly as I passed in-between consciousness and sleep in a never ending cycle. I wasn’t quite awake enough to perceive what had really happened, and what I had dreamed, but I do remember Mum bringing me a fresh glass of water, two panadols and a milo. The pain eventually eased.


I’ve spent my day so far trying to find something that won’t make me dizzy. When I tried reading, I had to read slowly, taking in every individual word, about two and a half times as slower as I normally could. My body felt like it was slowly detaching itself from my mind, and I often had to re-read sentences until I gratefully rested at the end of the chapter.


I settled for being a couch potato- swigging water and watching Star Wars to avoid having to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, my attention wandered, but I was passing time. I now have a doctor’s appointment at 3:20pm, and I am desperately hoping he will give me some instant relief. My body seems to have been rebelling against me since this dreadful throat ache two days ago. My mind has a very limited attention span, and I can’t focus for long enough to make sense of very much. Dad says my breath stinks, but all I had was porridge for breakfast. I feel positively wretched, and hope that something ends it soon.




“So what can I do for you?”
“He has a sore throat,” said Mum before I could answer.

“Yes, I see. Anything else?”

“I had a fever earlier this morning,” I said quickly. I had the feeling he was just writing me off.

“Let’s take a look at you…”


After a short inspection, he said,

“Well…" he said looking at me seriously. "I think you have a sore throat.” I raised an eyebrow as best I could.

“You think so?” It had only been waking me up at night for the past few days… After a closer look, he realised it wasn’t a viral infection, but rather,

“Septic tonsillitis.” He showed my mother my inflamed tonsils and the white pus that had taken my throat as its abode. I was horrified when I reached home and confirmed what he said- it disturbed me greatly to know I looked that awful. I was prescribed medicine that worked the majority of the time it was used, and I’ll need to return on Friday to know if I’ll survive. Despite my objections to medicine, for the bacteria will eventually grow immune to it until we are forced to invent new medicines, I considered my pain to be slightly beyond bearable for the next few days, and acquiesced to accepting it.


I looked up septic in the dictionary, and it’s anything related to the presence of pus-forming bacteria or their toxins in the blood or tissues. It hurts to swallow, and especially to yawn. Speaking more than a few sentences at once made my voice raspy, and ultimately, I couldn’t get the image of my inflamed tonsils and the existence of that pus in my throat.




After a short nap, (well, two to three hours), it is now far easier to swallow. It still hurts, but at least there isn’t a lump in my throat that burns with a fire of a thousand demons. I am content for some reason after my nap. Aye, Eugene did stamp my shirt with his custom made “RANK” stamp, and aye, I did retaliate with my disappearing ink, squirting a line of it on his back, and aye, he did take the prank the wrong way and almost rip a fistful of hair out, but for some reason, I’m happy. Well rested and on the road to recovery, nothing seems to be overly troubling me. I wonder what I’ll feel like tomorrow when I’m plagued even less by this accursed “septic tonsillitis”. *smiles*


I originally wrote this as a diary entry (which I forced myself to buy this afternoon, groggy and “completely out of it” as I was) and not a blog entry, but I realised that with the length of it, I’ll never fit it onto a single page. So here it is in my space =)

To Ivy: You are, of course, entirely right. I have been a selfish brat, and have been taking you far for granted. No one should have been asked to take care of me as much as you did, and I am sorry to have put you through that. You truly are wonderful in every aspect of the word. Friends?


To Solomon: Thank you for your patience with me. I am happy for you, truly.


To everyone else: Ignore those last two paragraphs, please.





An Exercise

I was just struck by a bolt of inspiration that allowed me to articulate so eloquently. I scribbled this down as quickly as I could, picturing it as a small segment from a story. I want you, the reader, to tell me your impression of this middle-aged, timely chap I have created. I get the impression he wears a suit and lives in the England we knew some fifty years ago.




It was a habit of his to leave mugs of water, still half full, in most every room in his household. He would sip from them frequently, almost leisurely, to ensure he did not get a sore throat. It also made him confident his body was in good shape by consuming the necessary eight glasses a day.

It was only so often that he would wash the glass rather than refill it. He didn’t like to use ordinary glasses, for his fingerprints would make the water appear dirty. No, he was much more comfortable with re-filling his mugs. Which mug he used depended on his mood- a plain but dependable mug when he felt comfortable. An embellished, intricate mug when he felt complicated. A heavy, round mug when he felt lazy.

For a time, he used bottles to preserve the purity of the water, but soon the task of removing and replacing the bottle cap became far too tedious for his likes, and he reverted to his old ways; raising the cup, sipping, and setting it down again.




Your impressions?